


Drove Through Ghosts to Get Here

by yodepalma



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Puns, Blind Character, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Cats, Happy Ending, Headcanon, M/M, Mild Angst, Nightmares, Piano, Present Tense, Some Humor, Spoilers, these boys are a mess and i want to protect them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodepalma/pseuds/yodepalma
Summary: Ignis strives to find a use for himself, and his friends won't let him struggle alone.(Some game spoilers! Which made this summary hard to write, gah.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rhymeswithpi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/gifts), [greyskiesblack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyskiesblack/gifts).



> Because A CERTAIN SOMEONE started some headcanons about Blind!Iggy playing the piano and my brain took them and _ran_. You fucker.  <3
> 
> Some other headcanons included, such as the cats from these [silly](https://gladiocats.tumblr.com/) [RP](https://ignisapproved.tumblr.com/) [blogs](https://promptodiary.tumblr.com/). (...I'm Gladio. 8D)
> 
> Title stolen shamelessly from 65daysofstatic. 
> 
> (P.S. If I forgot any tags, please let me know. I am cold and grumpy and COLD i hate the cold why does winter exist ahhhhh.)

_Drove Through Ghosts to Get Here_

 

The worst part about being blind isn’t the feeling of uselessness. It’s his inability to deal with that feeling with any of his usual coping mechanisms.

He can’t cook. There’s no way to measure ingredients when you can’t see what you’re doing, he’d probably cut his fingers off with a knife, and what’s the point anyway when he no longer has Noct to care for? Gladiolus is happy to live off cup noodles, and as much as it pains him to admit it, Prompto is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He’s had no choice but to learn how to, after all.

And of course there’s no hope of reading. He flips open books anyway, smoothing his fingers over pages that might as well be empty for all they offer him, and futilely wishes for something to do, something to offer, something that will keep him from being extraneous in this disastrous world….

In an uncharacteristic fit of anger, he pitches the book across the room and listens with grim satisfaction as it thunks loudly into the opposite wall. Then the door opens, and instead he’s flustered and appalled by his own action because that book isn’t his, nothing here is _his_ , and he shouldn’t be so damn ungrateful for the kindness everyone is showing him.

“Oh dear,” a woman’s voice says, and Ignis can feel himself flush. He doesn’t know if it’s better that it’s one of the women that found him like this, or if he’d have preferred Gladiolus. “Oscar, sweetie, go pick that up for Mr. Scientis, okay?”

“Okay!” a young voice says brightly, and that makes the situation even worse. He should be a role model for the children, and instead he’s throwing fits like…like _a spoiled prince_. “Here it is, Mr. Sciences!”

“…Thank you,” Ignis says quietly, holding out his hand toward the voice. Oscar shoves it in his open palm a little roughly, but he’s had practice with children and had braced himself for the treatment. He handles the book more gently this time, running a finger down the spine to make sure it hasn’t been damaged. The woman clears her throat in the silence.

“I can teach you Braille if you like,” she offers in a kind voice. “My sister was blind, but…”

 _But._ It’s amazing how much can be inferred from a single syllable.

“You don’t have to do that,” Ignis says quickly. “I don’t want to get in your way, and you already have enough to do.”

“It’s no trouble at all!” He doesn’t need to see the woman’s smile, because he can hear it the way he hears every one of Prompto’s. “Perhaps once you’ve learnt the language, we can put you on bedtime story duty.”

Ignis allows himself a small smile. “Actually, I think I’d like that.”

@-`---

Learning Braille is more difficult than he expected it to be. It’s a language only his fingertips can understand, and his efforts aren’t assisted at all by Gladiolus and Prompto’s infrequent visits.

“You’re not even reading from the same book,” Ignis snaps at Gladiolus after he’s raised his voice to a high-pitched falsetto for the third time. “And don’t think you’re going to get me to blush from those ridiculous romance novels you read.”

“I just like to see that muscle in your cheek twitch when I do the voices,” Gladiolus says. There’s a creaking noise that must be him leaning back in the chair. Ignis can imagine Gladiolus’ crossed legs in vivid detail the, the way his vest creases and shifts over his flexing muscles as he crosses his arms, and misses his sight fiercely. He would do anything to have it back some days.

Well. Almost anything.

“If you’re just going to annoy me, you can leave.” Ignis keeps his voice sharp, keeps his face tilted toward the book in his lap, does everything he can not to let his friend know that anything is wrong. Gladiolus sighs anyway, putting one large hand on Ignis’ shoulder.

“Just trying to keep things light, Iggy,” he says. “Even you need to laugh sometimes.”

Ignis shrugs the hand off, scowling, but he doesn’t say anything. The gods know Gladiolus tries, but it’s hard to find anything to laugh about these days.

@-`---

When he sleeps he dreams of death. Unable to see, he can’t fight, and if he can’t fight he can’t protect anyone he cares about. Oscar and his mother are always the first to die, daemons tearing them apart while he misses with every hopeless toss of his daggers. Gladiolus dies protecting him; Prompto dies expecting Ignis to protect _him_. Because hadn’t Ignis always been stronger, more capable, nigh-on indestructible…?

Without the sun, there’s little difference between night and day. Most of the people try to keep to a regular sleep schedule according to the artificial lights, but Ignis’ had been ruined from the start. It’s not unusual to see him wandering at odd hours, sleep-deprived and miserable and trying not to let it show, and he inevitably ends up at the piano.

He isn’t sure who it belongs to, but nobody bothers him while he plays it. There seems to be an unspoken agreement among the people that he can be stopped at any other time, but even the children allow him to play in peace.

“Woah, since when do you know how to play the piano!?”

Prompto, on the other hand, obviously never received that message.

“A while,” Ignis says blandly, his fingers continuing the song automatically despite the distraction. Prompto sighs and laughs at the same time, and then because he’s Prompto he invites himself to sit beside Ignis on the piano bench. His shoulder brushes lightly up against Ignis’, the softest touch, and it makes Ignis think of Prompto’s curious habit of wearing three different clashing patterns at once. He wonders if Prompto still dresses the same, hopes idly that somebody somewhere has finally give him hell for it.

“You’re really good!” Prompto says, his excited voice nearly wrenching a smile out of Ignis. “How do you do that without seeing the keys? You’re really something, Iggy!”

“It’s muscle memory,” Ignis explains. “I have the piece memorized, so all I have to do is decide what to play and then I can just sit back and let my fingers do the work.”

“I wish I’d ever learned to play an instrument,” Prompto says, his voice a bit wistful. “Then I could play along with you and we’d be like a duet! And maybe play something more cheerful for the kids!”

“Are the children watching again?” Ignis asks. He’d been so caught up in his most recent nightmare he hadn’t even noticed. “I suppose I can play something else for them.”

Segueing into a more cheerful song takes a few minutes of concentration, but hearing the excitement of the children (and Prompto) makes the effort worth it. The children dance if he plays the right music—some of the women had taken the time out to describe the impromptu parties that appear—and he can just see Prompto joining in with the fun. If he can’t protect them, at least he can give them something of a reprieve from the monsters that haunt their footsteps.

But playing the piano wasn’t the only thing his fingers remember how to do. He had memorized Willow’s schedule when she’d started teaching him Braille, and it hasn’t changed much in the intervening months. At dinnertime, he wanders his way to her kitchen and hesitates in the doorway as he listens to her bustle around the room.

“Did you need something, sweetie?” Willow asks when she notices him hovering, and Ignis shifts on his feet uncomfortably at both the pet name and being called out.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because this is _absurd_ , he’s still blind, but…. “I used to cook for my friends, and I was just wondering if there was anything I could help you with?”

He listens to the long silence with a heavy heart and turns to leave, more apologies on his lips because of course she wouldn’t want a _blind man_ in her kitchen. Imagine the disasters he could cause!

“Oh, Ignis, no!” Willow says, sounding just as flustered as Ignis feels. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to think of what you could do without risking injury and—but of course you can’t see me, how silly—”

“It’s alright,” Ignis assures her. “I’m aware I’m being ridiculous. I just feel so….”

He doesn’t want to say it, not out loud, especially not to this woman who’s been so kind and helpful but ultimately isn’t his friend. It’s like living with a distant aunt; he likes her, but it’s not the same as having his mother back.

Willow understands anyway, and gives him plenty of work to do in the kitchen after that. He starts to learn ingredients by texture and smell, can find his way around the kitchen by memory alone, and if he weren’t terrified that he’d light the place on fire he’s certain she would just let him cook on his own.

@-`---

He’s finally willing to believe he’s not completely useless, but there’s still one skill he needs back.

“Wait, you’re serious!?” Prompto cries when Ignis makes the request, disbelief and worry fighting for dominance in his voice. “You could get hurt, you could get _killed_ , this is the worst idea!”

“Eh, I’m just surprised it took this long,” Gladiolus says. “I thought he’d be back to killing daemons a year ago. I hope you don’t think I’m going to go easy on you because you’re blind.”

“I honestly can’t see you doing that,” Ignis says. He keeps his voice and expression as flat as he can, sips at the coffee he made himself, and waits.

“Did you just make a _blind joke_?” Prompto asks, delight evident in his voice. His smile must be extraordinary.

“I’m going to kick your ass just for that,” Gladiolus growls.

Ignis probably shouldn’t smirk at the threat, but he can’t stop himself. Anyway, it’s not like Gladiolus will do anything that will truly injure him, and he’s borne the brunt of his fury before. He may be out of practice, but a few bruises aren’t going to kill him.

Relearning how to fight while blind very well might, however. He’d thought he had good spatial awareness before, but either it had faded while he’d been wallowing in his own uselessness or it hadn’t been as good as he’d thought. Muscle memory is great, but it doesn’t _do_ anything if you can’t figure out where hits are coming from. He spends longer than he cares to admit being pounded into the ground by Gladiolus, never landing a hit of his own, but eventually he improves.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be as good of a fighter as he was before, but at least he knows nobody will die because they were counting on him and he failed.

@-`---

The day he leaves to fight daemons with Gladiolus and Prompto for the first time is somewhat bittersweet. The children who always gather to listen to him play the piano crowd around him, clamoring for him to stay or giving him gifts and hugs before he leaves. He knows Gladiolus is going to give him hell for it later, but he kneels down to say goodbye to every one of them. There’s always the chance, no matter how slim it is, that he won’t make it back.

Oscar’s goodbye is the hardest. No amount of reassurances from Ignis or either of his friends will stop his tears, and he clings to Ignis’ neck so tightly only his mother manages to pry him off. Ignis tries not to think about what must have leaked out of the kid’s orifices and onto his shirt as he offers Willow a hand to shake, which she promptly ignores in favor of a hug of her own.

“Be safe out there,” she whispers to him, sounding like she might cry as well. “And make sure you come back to visit! You and your friends will always be welcome.”

“Thank you, Willow,” Ignis says, his own voice rough. He swears if _he_ starts crying he’s just going to jump into a daemon’s gaping maw and be done with it. “We’ll come back.”

Ignis isn’t expecting the Regalia to be waiting outside for them, but he still feels an unexplainable sense of disappointment when he discovers the car isn’t even a convertible. He gets into the backseat without complaint, feeling the cheap cloth seats with distaste and hating the unfamiliar smell of stale smoke that had seeped into the interior. But if the other option is to walk, he’s willing to put up with a couple of mild discomforts.

Then he hears Prompto’s voice in the driver’s seat, and his calm is shattered instantly.

“No,” he snaps, reaching for the door handle too late. He yanks out the seatbelt instead, terror rising into his throat and settling there like an angry predator. Prompto tries to accelerate too fast, tires skidding on the pavement, and Ignis’ fingers scramble uselessly in search of the buckle. “If you get us killed, Prompto, I will _murder you_.”

“Um,” Prompto says. “I don’t think…”

Ignis processes exactly what he said, but presses his lips together to keep the blush from spreading across his face. He’s not going to get flustered this soon after leaving the city, he’s _not_.

“Relax, Iggy,” Gladiolus says. There’s an excruciating creak from the front passenger seat—Gladiolus is probably tilting it back as far as it will go, the lazy sod—and a long, satisfied sigh. “There’s like no other cars around and Prom’s gotten better about keeping his eyes on the road. We’ll be fine.”

Ignis can hear what isn’t being said. Prompto’s gotten better at driving because he had no choice, because somebody had to trade off with Gladiolus when Ignis _wasn’t there_. When Ignis couldn’t be there because he was busy wallowing in his own infirmity and everything he’d never have again. Not that he could have driven even if he’d been around, but the thought that he’d abandoned them to hide and lick his own wounds was shameful.

He will remember this moment. It won’t happen again.

“Are we going somewhere in particular?” Ignis asks to distract himself from the fact that Prompto is driving.

“We’re just meeting up with someone.” Gladiolus yawns loudly and shifts in his seat, and silence settles comfortably over the car. It’s nice. It’s _familiar_. With nothing to entertain him except a few books, Ignis leans against the door and drifts in and out of a light doze. Sometimes he thinks he hears soft conversation from the front seat or one of Prompto’s inane songs, but it’s never enough to pull him back to the real world.

What does wake him up is the seatbelt pulling taut across his chest, nearly strangling him. His friends are cursing loud and heartfelt, but he has no idea what’s going on until Prompto has thrown the car into reverse and they’re speeding backwards faster than Ignis expected the sedan would be able to handle.

“How big is it?” he asks calmly, reaching for the buckle and then thinking better of it. If the daemon knocks the car over, he doesn’t want to go tumbling around with it.

“Big,” Gladiolus says flatly.

“By my standards, or by _yours_?”

“By mine!”

Big enough to pose a problem then, especially with Ignis still so…well. He’ll worry about the end of that sentence later. Prompto is yelling something about not being able to outrun it, which should have been obvious from the start (Ignis carefully doesn’t say that out loud), and he turns the car to the side sharply enough that Ignis slams against the door. Gladiolus curses Prompto’s name, all of his ancestors, and the cat he named after himself so rapidly Ignis almost doesn’t catch it all, and then they’re spilling out of the car and there’s not even any time for banter before the daemon is on them.

The fight lasts long enough for Ignis to think that Gladiolus _had_ been going easy on him during training, because he’s certain he’s never been this tired before a battle has ended before. Prompto is panting heavily nearby, grumbling at his guns while he guards Ignis’—ha!—blind spots. Gladiolus must be having it the worst of the three of them, taking on the brunt of the work _and_ the damage getting up close with his broadsword. Ignis’ concern grows with every minute, and he’s just starting to calculate the odds of a successful escape when he hears a faintly familiar voice call “ _There_ you are!” over the sounds of their fight.

“What took you so long?” Gladiolus roars back, and that’s all it takes for Ignis to match the voice to a name.

“ _Iris?_ ” he gasps, but his disbelief is lost in the face of the siblings’ argument.

(“I’m only a little late, Gladdy, gees!”

“Any later and you’d be killing this thing for revenge!”)

“Oh holy Shiva,” Prompto says, starting to laugh. “Her dress, Iggy, it’s just…beautiful. Um. It’s got a bunch of dancing sort of happy spiracorns on it? With rainbows in the background. And leather pants, and I think her boots are nicer than mine, and is that one of Gladio’s old swords?”

“Happy spiracorns?” Ignis echoes, completely unable to pull up a matching mental image. He shakes his head and refocuses; there are more important things at hand than what Iris is _wearing_. “Shouldn’t we be helping?”

“I think they can handle it.”

A few seconds later, the daemon proves Prompto right by falling over, and Ignis can feel the change in the air as it dissipates. Iris’ high-pitched squeal means Gladiolus has decided to celebrate by picking her up and swinging her around in a circle, so she can’t have grown that much. Well, maybe she has; an additional foot in height won’t have made much of a difference to Gladiolus.

“I can’t believe I had to save your butts _again_ ,” Iris says, her voice playful as she and Gladiolus move towards him. “I ought to start charging you guys a rescue fee!”

“And what do you think you’re going to get out of us?” Gladiolus asks. “You know we’re broke running around out here, right?”

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Iris assures him. The innocence in her voice is a threat that they should all probably take seriously, but it makes Ignis smile anyway. It’s nice to know that something hasn’t changed. “And what are you smiling for, Ignis? Do you think you’ll be safe just because it’s your first offense?”

“I was merely thinking how nice it is to see you again,” Ignis says. “So to speak.”

“What are you looking at _me_ for?” Prompto asks, voice high-pitched in offense. “He started the blind jokes on his own!”

“I do have something of a blind spot for them,” Ignis admits.

Gladiolus and Prompto both groan, as if neither of them has ever made a worse joke, but Iris laughs like she thinks he’s funny. “I’m going to hug you,” she warns him, and throws her arms around his neck without giving him a second to brace himself. She actually _had_ grown quite a bit to be able to do that, so he’s extra careful in returning the hug. Better to be cautious than to make Gladiolus think Ignis is trying to feel up his little sister.

Iris sniffles a little as she pulls away from Ignis, but she seems cheerful enough when she links her arm with his. Her cheer is explained by something tiny and vibrating rubbing against Ignis’ legs in greeting.

“Oh, here’s my little partner!” Iris says, letting go of his arm. A moment later the tiny, vibrating thing is purring in _his_ arms as it licks one of his wrists.

“Why do you have a cat with you?” Ignis asks. He’s not sure he wants to know the answer.

“It’s not just any cat,” Gladiolus says, a terrible sort of amusement in his voice. “Remember the one we picked up that I was training to attack on command?”

“The one _you_ picked up, you mean?” Ignis asks. “As I recall, every single one of those furballs was your fault entirely.”

Prompto makes a coughing noise that sounds _strangely_ like “Mr. Tuliptoes.” Ignis wants to kick him, but isn’t entirely certain he’d make contact right now, so he just sighs pointedly. Prompto snickers.

“So, yes, I remember that specific cat, Gladio. Are you saying this is the same one?”

“I trained him _properly_ , mind you,” Iris says severely. “I don’t think Gladdy was even trying, the big dummy.”

“It’s not my fault he likes Iggy so much!” Gladiolus defends himself. Ignis can just see his exaggerated expression and expansive gestures, and he focuses his attention on playing with the cat to keep them from seeing his smile. “Look at him. He just turns into a kitten again the second Iggy shows up.”

The banter is broken up by an unexpectedly loud yawn from Prompto, and Ignis can just _hear_ his sheepish grin.

“Sorry,” Prompto says. He’s probably blushing; he’s always been so very self-conscious. “Fighting that thing really took it out of me, y’know? I could just lay down and sleep right here if it weren’t for the daemons.”

“Yes, I’m a bit tired myself,” Ignis agrees, offering everyone a rueful smile. “I’m somewhat out of practice, and a few weeks of training with Gladiolus certainly wasn’t enough to get me back into the shape I was in before. Shall we move on?”

“Oh, it’s still _hours_ until we get to Hammerhead,” Iris frets, but she scoops the cat out of Ignis’ arms anyway. It makes a little yowling sound and growls at her. “Oh, hush, Gladio. The cat, bro, not you. I don’t know which of you named them—”

“Prompto,” Ignis and Gladiolus say in concert.

“Sure,” Prompto mutters, “just blame it all on the little guy.”

“ _Anyway_ , why don’t you three make camp while I keep watch with Gladio?” Iris asks. “The cat. Catio? Catiolus? Oh, I don’t know. We’re going to have to come up with a nickname for you, aren’t we my sweet little murderkitty?”

“We’ve lost her,” Gladiolus announces sadly. “Nothing but a daemon is going to get her out of that haze now.”

“She just rubbed noses with the cat,” Prompto explains for Ignis’ benefit. “And now she’s walking off and nuzzling his fur. How does she not get ambushed like this?”

“Special training from Cor?” Gladiolus suggests in a way that says he doesn’t have any idea either.

Ignis is gently pushed to the side while Gladiolus and Prompto efficiently make camp, and he sighs into the fire that’s slowly building up in front of him. He knows he’s more of a hindrance than a help right now, his skillset from the years before still being recovered, but he doesn’t like to sit idle while everyone else does work around him. He manages to talk Prompto into giving him the cooking supplies, though he can feel the man’s uncertainty as he hands the items over, and he peacefully starts up a simple soup as he waits for camp to be finished. The trick to working with unfamiliar items is to work slowly and methodically, to find something familiar to measure with, to make damn sure you know what you’re doing before you ever do it. He’s taken to using his off hand to measure how much of something he’s cutting, and it hasn’t failed him yet.

“Should’ve known you’d figure out how to cook before you took up your lance again,” Gladiolus says, falling into place next to Ignis much closer than he’d expected.

Prompto flops down on his other side, leaning over his arm and sniffing loudly. “Sure smells good,” he says. “Better than Cup Noodles again.”

“What’s wrong with Cup Noodles!?”

“Three meals a day is a bit much, Gladio.”

“Soup’s up,” Ignis interrupts loudly before he has to listen to the two of them fight it out again. Honestly, you’d think they’d be over it by now.

The meal is devoured in relative silence; despite their lengthy times apart, there really isn’t much to say. They’re all bone weary from the long fight, and talking would take too much energy away from eating. Prompto eventually seems to grow tired of sitting up straight and ends up leaning on Ignis’ shoulder, which Ignis allows with a little huff of annoyance as he feels what’s left of his soup sloshing around his bowl.

“You two look beat,” Gladiolus says. He sounds as tired as Ignis feels, but he gets up with a loud groan. “I’m going to take some soup to Iris. You get inside, okay?”

“Don’t stay up with her all night.” Ignis gives his friend a pointed frown, because he knows Gladiolus will choose spending time with his sister and a cat over getting some sleep if he thinks he can get away with it. “Prompto and I need at least one of you on your feet.”

“No, we can totally handle anything out there, Iggy!” Prompto protests, trying to push himself off Ignis’ shoulder and not getting very far. “The daemons will flee before us!”

“Tell that to the one that almost killed us an hour ago,” Ignis says dryly. He hooks an arm around Prompto’s waist and drags him up as he stands. Prompto whines through the whole process, putting more of his weight on Ignis for every inch they gain toward the vertical, but it isn’t anything Ignis wasn’t expecting. “Prompto. I can’t see the tent, you twit.”

“Oh, right,” Prompto says. Prompto’s weight lifts from Ignis’ side, and Ignis drops his arm with relief. He’d been worried he was going to have to carry Prompto to the tent, which would have been an adventure itself. “Okay, please don’t trip over anything because Gladio will _kill_ me and, yeah, here it is. Left a little. Wait, no, your other left!”

“That would be my right, Prompto.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Your other left.”

Despite Prompto’s haphazard direction, they make it into the tent in one piece, and Ignis is even able to make himself something that resembles a nest to sleep in. He and Prompto say their goodnights and lay down side by side, making sure to leave plenty of room for Gladiolus’ usual sprawl. Silence transcends for a few long, blissful minutes before Prompto’s snoring starts. Then the restless shifting, every move inching him slightly closer to Ignis, until one outstretched hand brushes against Ignis, and then—ah. Right. He’d forgotten about this little habit of Prompto’s.

Ignis attempts to wriggle himself away, but every movement makes Prompto’s grip on him constrict further. It feels like being hugged by a very enthusiastic sea creature, he thinks with a mental sigh, and manages to jostle an arm free. Prompto responds by moving in even closer, burying his nose under Ignis’ jaw and hooking a leg over his hip. Ignis can feel his face flush as he considers just where to put his free hand: Prompto’s side? His hip? No place sounds innocent in this position.

“Damn, he’s got you good.” Gladiolus laughs as he enters the tent, and Ignis hears him moving around on light feet to get ready to sleep. “I sure don’t get hugs like that anymore.”

“Is he hugging me?” Ignis murmurs, trying not to wake Prompto with the talking. “Or is he trying to strangle me in his sleep? It feels so similar I couldn’t tell.”

“Looks like a hug from this angle,” Gladiolus reassures him. There’s a short silence where he neither moves nor speaks, and then he sighs. “How much time did you spend trying to get away? There’s not enough room on either side of you for me.”

“Sorry,” Ignis apologizes, grimacing down at Prompto. “We had intended to leave you enough room. If we wake him up, I’m sure we can move—”

“ _Please_ don’t wake him,” Gladiolus groans, and for good reason. Prompto is never exactly grumpy, but he doesn’t have much of a filter first thing when he wakes up and you never know what he’s going to say. There’s no point in listening to him ramble more often than they need to. “I think I can squeeze in.”

Gladiolus’s footsteps move behind Ignis and there’s a lot of indeterminate shuffling—what in the world is the man doing?—before a light blanket floats gently down on top of Ignis and Prompto. Gladiolus sits down while Ignis is still adjusting to the unexpected weight, and his movements are a lot slower as he shifts in the cramped area beside the tent wall. There’s a muffled curse when he seems to hit the wall hard enough to make the fabric shake, the soft groan of a man who’s too sore to move but is doing it anyway, and then Ignis feels the press of a long, warm body all down the length of his back.

Ignis’ heart jumps into the base of his throat, beating so loud and hard he can hear the echo of it in his ears. He doesn’t even want to think about how red his face must be, so he studiously ignores it as he growls, “Gladio, what the hell are you doing?”

“Just trying to get comfortable, relax,” Gladiolus says. His voice is far too close to Ignis’ ear and it makes him shiver; he hopes Gladiolus doesn’t feel it, but he won’t bet on that. “You don’t seem to mind Prompto’s clinging half as much."

“I’m used to Prompto,” Ignis points out. Granted, he’d forgotten it, but it hadn’t entirely surprised him when it had happened. “You’ve never done—this.”

Gladiolus curls himself closer around Ignis’ body, and the hand Ignis had hesitantly laid on Prompto’s hip is covered by another one that’s even larger than his. It’s also a bit sweaty. Is Gladiolus _nervous_?

“Never realized I wanted to keep you so close before,” Gladiolus says. Ignis isn’t certain how to respond to that; he needs time to process this development, but Gladiolus is _right there_. “Just go to sleep, Iggy. I’m not expecting anything out of you but that.”

“How am I supposed to sleep now?” Ignis snaps.

“You could try shutting up,” Prompto mutters into Ignis’ neck.

Gladiolus and Ignis both freeze, but Prompto doesn’t do anything else except attempt to burrow his way even closer to Ignis (which isn’t physically possible). It breaks the tension enough for Ignis and Gladiolus to laugh a little, and Ignis forces himself to relax. He _does_ need to sleep; they all do. He can deal with whatever’s going on with them in the morning.

Sleep doesn’t come as quickly as he would like, but it does come, and he welcomes it with relief.

@-`---

There are two daemons this time, each bigger than the last one, and even with Iris helping them from the outset they’re overwhelmed. Prompto is the first to be taken down, swept away by something so quickly Ignis can’t pinpoint where it even came from. He curses his lack of vision as Prompto’s scream is cut short, but at least the sounds of his body being broken by the massive beast are drowned out in Gladiolus’ rage.

Ignis tries to yell for Gladiolus to calm down and consider some sort of strategy before he goes rushing forward and gets himself killed as well, but his voice is frozen in his throat. Nothing he does can knock it loose. All he can do is keep fighting, hoping his increasingly desperate swings are enough to keep them safe.

Gladiolus brings one daemon down, and then his bellow ends in a gurgle of blood. Iris cries even as she continues to fight, but watching her own brother's death is enough of a distraction for the daemon to get her too.

Ignis is alone. He's blind and surrounded by enemies, and even if he does survive now what's the point in fighting? If he can't help them, what use will he be to the prince when he comes back…?

The daemon crushes him to the ground, one massive paw on his chest slowly suffocating him. His body reacts without his command, trying to shove the beast off him—

Ignis shoots awake with a gasp, completely disoriented. He has no idea where he is and something is wrapped around him, trapping him against the floor. He twists sharply in its grip, surprised at how easily it falls away, but whatever has hold of his hand isn't so easy to shake.

"Damnit, Iggy, you're having a nightmare!" The gruff voice is familiar. Safe. He stops struggling as he tries to place it, and a gentle hand pulls him in against a large, solid body. "The fuck has you so damn scared?"

"Gladio," Ignis breathes, and can't stop himself from relaxing into the embrace. Gladiolus is alive. He'd just been dreaming. They're camping, Iris is on watch, and Prompto is—he _was_ clinging in his sleep again. Ignis reaches out a hand apologetically, but doesn't expect to get a lapful of grown man in response.

"Are you okay?" Prompto asks, puppy-eager in his worry. He touches Ignis' face, then puts his hands on Ignis' shoulders, then just lets his hands flutter annoyingly in the air like he isn't certain what to do with them. "I'm sorry, I'll try not to be so clingy, was I hugging too tight—?"

"You're fine, Prompto," Ignis assures him. He's trying to keep his voice calm, but he can still feel it shaking from the nightmare, and Prompto makes a little distressed noise at it. Ignis sighs and wraps his free arm around Prompto, pulling him in for a tight hug. Prompto hesitantly returns the embrace, but when he's not rebuffed his grip turns painfully tight. Ignis just sticks his nose in Prompto's hair and inhales the scent of it, desert dust and musty sweat and the tangible proof that he's alive.

He thinks he understands what Gladiolus meant about wanting to keep him close now. He normally has no patience for this kind of pointless cuddling, but the last thing he wants to do right now is let either of these men go. He needs this proof that they're alive. That it was their deaths that he dreamt, not this.

"We've still got a few hours to sleep," Gladiolus says. His voice is quiet in the stillness, doesn't break the peace that has fallen over them. "Let's lay back down."

They have to untangle themselves to move. It should be awkward when Prompto starts to creatively drape himself around Ignis' body again, but it really isn't. Especially not with Gladiolus squeezing both of them to him like a teddy bear, and then brushing a barely-noticeable kiss behind Ignis' ear. Ignis' heart leaps into his throat again.

"Gladio," he says, but can't think of anything to add.

"Good night," Gladiolus says in a tone that's meant to prevent the conversation from starting.

It's never worked on Ignis. He snorts with annoyance, twists his torso awkwardly to the side, and manages to catch Gladiolus' lips with his own before he can think better of it.

For a second, it's the most awkward, stilted kiss of Ignis' life, and that includes the very first one he'd had in middle school. Then Gladiolus responds, correcting Ignis' bad aim, moving to hover over Ignis so the angle isn't as painful, and, hell, Ignis has never felt so wanted in his _life_.

"Not to complain," Prompto says, sounding breathless. "But I'm feeling kind of left out here."

Ignis isn't certain who Prompto is talking to until Gladiolus slowly pulls away. Nervous fingers bunch into Ignis' shirt and tug him down into a hopeful kiss. Ignis can't say no. He holds Prompto close and safe, the same way Gladiolus continues to hold on to him.

They do manage to sleep eventually. This time, there aren't any nightmares.

@-`---

In what passes for morning, he's woken by the sound of Gladiolus cursing and bursting out of their little cocoon of warmth. There's a squeal and a flutter of fabric, but Ignis isn't quite awake enough to process whatever Iris and her brother are arguing about.

"What…?" he asks Prompto, who moans and buries his face in Ignis' neck. Too embarrassed to explain. _That's_ a good sign.

He doesn't notice the weight pressing against the top of his head until he tries to move, and it combined with Prompto's tightening grip makes him sigh and give up. He raises a hand to investigate whatever’s on his head. It responds to his prodding with a loud, rumbling purr, and licks his fingers. Gladio the cat has joined the cuddling, apparently.

He really should get up. Iris and Gladiolus are liable to run into something nasty while they're fighting, they can use a breakfast of something other than Cup Ramen, and the sooner he gets everyone moving the sooner they'll get to Hammerhead.

Ignis wraps his arm back around Prompto's waist. He's comfortable; surely they can handle it if he sleeps in? They'd been fine without him this long. 

"Can't believe she took a picture," Gladiolus snarls as he smashes back into the tent. "Prompto, come on, get up and save your camera from Iris!"

Prompto is out of Ignis' arms before Ignis realizes he's moving.

"How did she get ahold of my baby?"  
  
Ignis rubs his face with one hand. On second thought, he's not sure how these two idiots survived this long without him.


End file.
